


Puppy Love

by TheWasAndShouldBeKing



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post Season One, Crack, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 09:31:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18140465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWasAndShouldBeKing/pseuds/TheWasAndShouldBeKing
Summary: Sylar captures one of the Bennet Clan...





	Puppy Love

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ like... 12 years ago, but I still love it, so I'm publishing it again, here.

Sylar lies beneath the wreckage of a rural modular home, somewhere near the border of Southern California and Mexico. The air is dusty with vaporized insulation and he’s pinned beneath one of the rickety building’s few support beams, not quite unconscious, but not exactly fully aware.   
  
There is movement somewhere near him, small and frantic, and then there is a wet sensation against his cheek, his forehead, and then his mouth. This gets him moving and he sits up, tossing construction materials away from his prone form with nothing but the strength of his mind.   
  
He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring down at the little animal that fairly tap dances beside him on tiny paws, seemingly elated that anyone, even the man who attacked its family and destroyed its house, is there to rescue it.  
  
Sylar only clears the tiny dog’s path to freedom because he needs one of his own. Outside twilight is falling on the surrounding desert, a bloody sun dipping beneath the flat horizon line, but he has no trouble picking out the set of tread marks pealing out of the gravel driveway. He runs his hands over his face in frustration and begins to walk away from the scene of destruction behind him, planning his next move already.  
  
The bizarre tattoo of pedicured claws reaches his ears from the drive below and Sylar stops, the Pomeranian stopping next to him and looking up expectantly. The banner of its stubby, fluff-covered tail waves hopefully as it gazes up with round black eyes at the only human to be found for seven miles. Unaware there’s a contest of wills going on the dog only sits for so long before it begins to yip, jumping up to press its paws against Sylar’s calve, demanding more attention than just to be looked upon.   
  
The would-be-murderer of its owner’s daughter finally bends his knees and crouches, reaching down to run a deadly hand gently over the Pomeranian’s silken fur. Pleased with the contact the dog spins a circle about the hand and licks at Sylar’s palm affectionately.  
  
“I guess they were too busy running off to worry about finding you, hm? What was your name again? Mr. Muggles.” He doesn’t even have to reach to find the name, it comes back to him as though some one had just told it to him. Perhaps he’d heard the mother screaming after her poor little dog through the crashing of the house, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. “Mr. Muggles… Where did she get a name like that?”  
  
He doesn’t find it odd to carry on a conversation with a dog. After all, he and Mr. Muggles have chatted before, so to speak, on Sylar’s first visit to the Bennet home, intent on finding Claire. The dog couldn’t be happier to be talked to either, though it doesn’t comprehend a word of what the man is saying, except the distinct set of sounds that makes up its name.  
  
“Come on. You’ll get eaten by a coyote out here,” Sylar scoops up the pint-sized pup without really considering the action and continues on his way.

\--'---,,--

  
The news that Sylar has definitely survived his encounter with Hiro’s sword sits well with nobody. Officer Parkman and his wife disappear with little Molly Walker and their own child into what they hope is even deeper anonymity. The Bennet clan does much the same. In the mean time, Mohinder tries his best to make use of the samples he has of Sylar’s genetic material to find a way to defeat the resurrected fiend.  
  
Everyone, even those who have had only minimal contact with Sylar, spend their waking hours looking over their shoulders constantly.  
  
So it’s entirely understandable, Mohinder’s complete shock and surprise, when rather than being stalked and found by Molly’s ‘boogeyman’, he stumbles upon the serial killer quite by accident as he cuts across one of the patches of green park that pepper New York’s concrete cityscape.  
  
Mohinder’s heart jumps into his throat as his path intersects with Sylar’s, the man dressed in the same sort of slim, tailored black that looked so ravishingly deadly on him at the showdown in Kirby Plaza. It’s too late to turn and run, Sylar’s dark eyes have already locked onto Mohinder, and he’s moving at a startlingly rapid pace, puffs of breath visible in the February chill.   
  
He hasn’t bothered with a scarf, though Mohinder has had one wrapped around his neck and ears almost constantly since moving to this blasted freezing city. And why should he? If a fatally sharp and reportedly-mystical ancient blade can’t bring him down what’s a bit of inclimate weather to the likes of Sylar?  
  
Mohinder gasps and braces for the attack, terrified and completely unarmed. He knew if this moment came his weapons might simply turn into toys in Sylar’s hands to be used against him. Still the doctor wishes he had something, even a tazer or pepper spray. Then he might not feel so utterly helpless.  
  
“MR. MUGGLES! SIT!! STAY!!!”  
  
“Mr. Muggles…?” Mohinder wonders for just a moment if the sociopath hasn’t gone entirely off the deep end. Brows knit and mouth pulled into a slightly perplexed sneer, he tries to puzzle out the bizarre exclamations as Sylar continues to charge toward him.  
  
Then he hears the yipping.  
  
In his sudden and sheer panic Mohinder had not noticed the little dog that had sprinted past him when Sylar rounded the bend. For a scant two seconds he braves a turn of the head and sees that Sylar’s line of sight is not, as he assumed, trained on him, but rather on an errant Pomeranian.   
  
Mohinder guesses the little scamp had caught sight of a squirrel, as it is currently barking up the base of a tree. Then he remembers the man now behind him, and turns again to find Sylar standing much, much closer than he’d like.  
  
“Muggles! Come!” And yet, Sylar still hasn’t recognized him! The dog yaps once or twice more at the animal hiding in the tree before it looks back to its unconventional master, a wide doggy smile plastered across its foxish face. It seems to be seeking approval, in spite of Sylar’s obvious frustration, as though between obeying commands and treeing a squirrel the second is the worthier deed.  
  
Having no idea what to do with a squirrel if it’d caught one though, Mr. Muggles abandons its quarry readily, now that it is clearly out of reach. The dog trots dutifully back to Sylar, red tongue lolling happily as the man bends to scoop the Pom into his arms, giving it the most spine chilling death-glare.  
  
Well, it would be if it was pointed Mohinder’s way, but as it stands the glare is aimed at such a small and fluffy dog with an expression of such oblivious contentment on its furry face that it can be described as nothing less than comedic. It is possibly the single most perversely funny thing Mohinder has seen in his life, and the chuckle escapes unbidden, drawing the most unwanted of attentions as Sylar turns his head.  
  
“Oh, Dr. Suresh…” The glare melts even as Sylar looks away from the dog and is gone by the time he recognizes the other man. His tone is actually something close to apologetic, a sort of embarrassed expression on his face as he is caught in the middle of scolding ‘Mr. Muggles.’   
  
As he carefully juggles the dog in his arms a soft smile even breaks across his lips and the name pops into Mohinder’s head instantaneously and unbidden: _Zane_.

The geneticist has the presence of self not to actually  _say_  it, which leaves him speechless for a moment. The potential for silence and what might happen in the meantime is too unsettling though, so he finds  _something_  to fill it. “You… have a dog.”   
  
Brilliant.  
  
“Yes…” Sylar seems quietly amused by Mohinder’s choice of greeting. Not ‘You’re alive!’ or ‘What are  _you_  doing here?’ or even his name, spoken with icy disdain. “This is Mr. Muggles. Mr. Muggles, Mohinder.”  
  
Now Mohinder is starting to wonder if  _he_  hasn’t gone off the deep end. Surely this must be a hallucination. Sylar is introducing him to a dog. …And introducing the dog back to him! “Mr.  _Muggles_?” he can’t help the incredulity.   
  
Sylar’s face falls and Mohinder fears the ground has become dangerous. Can it even be possible the incident that will finally drive Sylar to murder him is a slight to a dog that would fit in a handbag…? Mohinder swallows as his mouth goes dry, but Sylar just looks at the dog, perturbed.  
  
“Well, I tried calling him ‘Hamilton’ but he wouldn’t come to it. Tried for weeks, but Mr. Muggles it is.” The pup climbs its master’s chest, licking Sylar’s chin by way of apology for its little doggy stubbornness.  
  
“What on Earth possessed you to get a Pomeranian?” Mohinder finds himself drawn in by the very absurdity of it. The terror is slipping to the back of his mind, scrabbling with sharp nails to remain at the forefront where it belongs, but he cannot help himself. All he can see is this extremely metropolitan and urbane man standing before him with this impeccably groomed pure-bred… Insanity and murder seem out of the question!  
  
“I didn’t, really… He just… followed me,” he blinks.  
  
_Zane._  
  
“Followed you?”  
  
“Yes, I suppose Mrs. Bennet thought better of coming back to look for him…” he turns his attention away from Mohinder, lifting a gloved hand to scratch beneath the dog’s chin.  
  
“You kidnapped Mrs. Bennet’s dog?!” A flash of conversation comes back, Noah Bennet checking in with Mohinder after Sylar’s latest attack. He tells the doctor that his wife is just beside herself over the loss of her favorite Pomeranian.   
  
“He was trapped in a collapsing house, she abandoned him!” Sylar’s svelte eyebrows collide above the bridge of his nose, the man taking unexpected offense to Mohinder’s accusation; even more unexpected reproach for Mrs. Bennet’s sense of self-preservation. The pup yips, squirming in Sylar’s arms as the raised voices excite it. Sylar shushes the dog before looking back to Mohinder, smiling.  
  
“I’ll tell you what…” he’s fairly purring and the doctor is immediately suspicious. “You tell me where to find the Bennets, and I will gladly take Mr. Muggles back to his mommy. How’s that?”  
  
Mohinder’s mouth falls open slightly, taken aback by the blatant insinuations in Sylar’s suggestion. “You can’t possibly expect me to tell you something like that! Even if I  _knew_  where they are, I am not that naïve!”  
  
“I guess that means Mr. Muggles stays with me,” Sylar’s eyes sparkle at Mohinder as he lifts the dog, actually giving the animal a soft kiss on its furry cheek. “That’s just fine with you, isn’t it Muggles? Yes, it is.”   
  
He actually seems content to forego interrogating the doctor on Mrs. Bennet’s, and thus Claire Bennet’s, whereabouts, basking in tiny doggy kisses like any number of Uptown Manhattan socialites. If Mohinder didn’t know better (and perhaps he honestly doesn’t) he would have thought Sylar had come to the park cruising for a boyfriend. As it is a pair of old ladies are whispering to one another significantly and Mohinder begins to flush under their aged stares.  
  
“We actually have an appointment with the veterinarian today to refill Mr. Muggles heartworm medication, so we should be getting on. You’re still living in your father’s old apartment, yes?” It barely qualifies as a question; Mohinder can tell Sylar knows he does. “I’ll look you up some time. We’ll have tea.”  
  
As Sylar leaves, Mr. Muggles now trotting after its new master’s heels dotingly, Mohinder is left extremely conflicted. Not the least issue he finds himself contemplating is whether or not he should tell Mr. Bennet that his dog isn’t dead…


End file.
